Peripheral Vision
by Tinkerbell99
Summary: And so it was that Donna joined the campaign...but what else happened that day? Told through the voices of those outside the main event. COMPLETE
1. Margaret

Title: Peripheral Vision

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: And so it was that Donna joined the campaign, but what _else_ happened that day? Told from the points of view of those on the outside of the main event.

A/N: Though the catalysts are Josh and Donna, this story is centered on and is told primarily through the voices of other characters: Margaret, CJ, Sam, and Abby to name a few. I wanted to know - what _didn't_ we see in Nashua?

POV: Margaret

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"There's a strange woman in your office."

"Huh?"

"The woman. In your office?" Surely he's aware of the leggy blonde in his office. I would think leggy blondes are something Josh Lyman would definitely notice. "She's not accounted for on the daily register of volunteers."

Josh rips a page from a giant blue binder. "Margaret, is it?" I nod. "She's…" He cranes his neck back and looks at me for a moment while he continues shuffling through the binder. "She's new here. She just…drove in. From Wisconsin."

Some people have no regard for the system. This isn't the first time this has happened. This isn't even the first time it's happened with Josh Lyman. He also failed to register an employee when he first came in from Washington. It upset the count for days before I realized and corrected the problem.

"See, this is where the system always gets upset. You _really _should run all new employees through this office. My office. Leo's office. It helps avoid the overflow."

He looks up at me for a moment like he just discovered a moldy substance in the fridge and isn't quite sure he wants to know what it is. "The…overflow?"

"Yes." He still looks confused. I really don't have time for this today. I wouldn't think that he would either, but that's his call. He puts down the binder. "And the overflow is…?" He obviously needs an explanation.

"The overflow is what happens when volunteers are allowed to choose their station of work." He's started walking through the main lobby now, heading back toward his office. Lucky for me, I have long legs and can keep right on talking while we move. "When volunteers choose their station of work, they're more likely to pair themselves with certain areas of campaign activity or with certain campaign pointpeople."

"Pointpeople?"

"Yes. People of notice in the campaign. You, Leo, and CJ for example. They're also more likely to want to work for an attractive person of the opposite sex or with someone who is perceived as vital to the campaign. Perhaps a boss likely to stimulate an exciting and enjoyable work environment." He comes to a sudden stop beside the copy machine.

"Really." Somehow that didn't sound like a question.

"Yes. And when that kind of overflow occurs, certain areas of the campaign are inevitably left understaffed. This, in turn, affects the overall effectiveness of the aforementioned campaign."

"Really." There's that voice again. He leans against the copy machine with his eyebrows raised. "You've done…some sort of…research on this?" He looks confused again and his eyes are all squinty.

"On the overflow? Yes." I nod my head. Why is that so hard to believe?

"Ahh…kay. So basically what you're telling me is that if all the volunteers don't funnel themselves through you, no one will want to work for Toby."

I've gotten through to him at last. "Exactly."

"Right. Right." Mrs. Landingham is headed toward the copy machine and Josh starts to back away from me. "Well, thanks, um, Margaret. I'm gonna just…I've gotta head back to my office and-"

"I'm sorry. I can't let you do that." He stops in his tracks and looks up at me. His eyes aren't squinty anymore. In fact, they're kind of wide.

"W…Why?"

"You're not wearing your campaign badge." Honestly, this should be perfectly clear to him.

"I…I…uh…I left it…uh…"

He's started walking away from his office now, and back toward the main lobby. Obviously he needs another explanation. "When you entered the building, you were handed an identification badge. The badge is a necessary part of coordinating campaign pointpeople and volunteers. The organization achieved by the badges helps us avoid the phenomenon of over-"

"Overflow. Right. I get that. But, I _have_ a badge." He's stopped walking now and is looking up at me with a nervous little smile on his face.

"But you're not wearing it."

"Well, I-"

"If you're not wearing a badge, you're not allowed in the offices."

"Okay, first of all, it's not '_the_ offices.' It's _my_ office. It has my name on it. And I _was_ wearing a badge." He looks at me as if this was supposed to clarify the problem. We stand in silence for a few seconds before he gives in. "All right. I'm a team player. I play by the rules. I'll get another badge from the box and-"

"You can't do that." I close the top of the cardboard box before he can reach his hand in and pilfer another badge.

The squinty-eyed look is back. "Why not?"

"If you take a _second_ badge from the box, it upsets the daily volunteer count. An accurate count assures that the phenomenon of-"

"Ok, right! Overflow! I've upset the overflow! I get it!" He puts his head in his hands and runs them through his hair wildly for a few moments before looking back up at me. "Margaret." He takes a deep breath and begins speaking very slowly. "If I swear never to upset the overflow again, and I swear to keep my badge around my neck until election day, could I please, for the love of God, have a badge and GET BACK TO WORK!"

I look at him for a moment. He seems sincere. After a few moments of silent consideration, I raise the top of the box to allow him access.

"Thank you!"

"Mr. Lyman?" I have one more question for him.

He stops on his way back to his office. He keeps his back to me, but I would imagine the squinty-eyed look has returned. "Yes?"

"If you could just inform me of the location of the original badge, then I could adjust the counts and regulate the overflow."

He turns and I see that I was right about his eyes. "I gave it to the…I gave it to Donna. I gave it to my assistant."

Normally I would need to remind him of the ramifications of such an action, but I'm a little shocked that he's managed to find himself an assistant. Besides, if this Donna person manages to stick with him for a week, I can stop doing double-time with the filing. Lord knows, he needs someone to keep track of him and Leo's enough for one woman to handle. After the press mix-up this morning and with us moving on to South Carolina tonight, it's only likely to get worse. Besides, he looks sincerely sorry…and a little bit pleased with himself.

"Okay then." I give him a nod and head back to work.


	2. CJ

Title: Peripheral Vision

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: And so it was that Donna joined the campaign, but what _else_ happened that day? Told from the points of view of those on the outside of the main event.

POV: CJ

I can't keep screwing up like this.

"That's right, anybody who answered 'we didn't have the candidate-'"

"I blew it. What's next?" See, that's the thing. He didn't blow it. I'm the press secretary, and from what I understand, I should be able to, you know, deal with the press. Having the candidate on television at the appropriate time in front of an audience qualifies as press. I'm the one who blew it. Now I have the Governor taking the blame for my mistake.

I open my mouth to correct him, but he has already moved on and so has everyone else in the room. The meeting moves on, and I can barely sneak a word in edgewise. When the verbal tornado ends, everyone scatters and I'm left wondering what exactly I've gotten myself into.

The mix-up this morning really wasn't the Governor's fault. He was supposed to be televised at an appointed time, and I missed it. Instead of preparing him for possible national exposure, I left him in some guy's kitchen packing boxes of silverware. I'm still not sure how or why that even happened. I can only imagine what Toby must be thinking. I don't even want to know what Leo must be thinking. And as for the Governor…at least he doesn't seem to know my name.

It hasn't been a good day.

Josh starts venting to Leo about being "bathed in the warm embrace of the candidate" as I head to my makeshift office and try to bathe myself in an actual warm cup of coffee. You wouldn't think that would be difficult since we've all been living off of caffeine for the last several months. Unfortunately, it looks like somebody beat me to the pot. I don't know why men can't put water in a machine and press a button. It isn't really that hard. I could really use a drink. Coffee, vodka, whatever.

When Toby asked me to come to New Hampshire, I asked him if Jed Bartlet was a good man. I've always trusted his judgment. I've always trusted him. I hadn't seen Toby for nearly two years when he showed up at my house, but when he asked me I barely stopped to pack my bags, much less to question my decision.

I've always trusted Toby's judgment. And he was right. Jed Bartlet is a good man. It was the other thing I asked him about that still troubles me. He said I could do this.

I don't know if I can do this.

Everyone else in this building has some sort of a clearly defined purpose or a stellar resume. I still feel like the only girl in the "boys only" tree house. Somebody must have let me up here by mistake. If I'm not pushed out soon, I may jump.

"CJ?"

"Yeah?" Toby comes around the corner and enters what could only charitably be called my cubicle. Actually it's the area between two filing cabinets and a stack of Xerox paper. He's carrying what is undoubtedly the last warm cup of coffee in the building. I try not to be jealous.

"Channel Seven wants the Governor on at six o'clock tonight." He's shifting his weight back and forth in my entryway.

"This is instead of the thing from this morning?" The thing that I screwed up.

"Yeah."

"Okay." He's still in my doorway, looking like he wants to say something. He should let me have it for the screw-up earlier. He should tell me I'm completely incompetent and tell me I can't read a watch. He should…but that's not Toby. At least not yet. "I'm on it."

Part of me is grateful for the reprieve. Part of me wishes he'd admit he made a mistake and let me go back to California. It's becoming increasingly clear that I'm not cut out for this.

He shifts his coffee to his left hand, looking uncomfortable as he brushes imaginary dust from my desk. "You know it wasn't…never mind." He starts to turn, but stops, a little smile on his face. "If you're looking for some entertainment, Margaret is harassing Josh about the overflow."

"Overflow?"

"I've really found it's best not to ask. Oh, and Josh found himself an assistant." I hear Sam call Toby's name, and with a wink, he leaves my office.

Toby rarely winks.

I make a quick call to Channel Seven (just to confirm) and assign an intern to confirm (again) in ten minutes. I'm trying not to screw up the same thing twice in one day. Then I head out in search of coffee and Josh Lyman. I didn't like the look of that wink Toby gave me. It seemed like the type of wink that would cause a lot of trouble for me.

Ten minutes later, I've officially been introduced to Donnatella Moss of Madison, Wisconsin. Five majors and two minors in two years. Blonde hair and long legs. Cute girl, newly single. Working for Josh Lyman.

I knew I didn't like that wink.

I like her, though. I liked her from the moment she smacked Josh with a file folder. I like that she knows which calls to refer to the press office and which ones to refer to the dial tone. I like that she doesn't take any crap from Josh and told him to make his own damn coffee.

Maybe now there will actually be some left in the pot.

If I'm still around to drink it.


	3. Sam

Title: Peripheral Vision

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: And so it was that Donna joined the campaign, but what _else_ happened that day? Told from the points of view of those on the outside of the main event.

POV: Sam

"Toby?" He's headed away from CJ's area now. Maybe I can actually speak with my boss for a few minutes. Too bad he's ignoring me or that might be remotely plausible.

"Toby." Now he's heading toward the vending machines - full steam ahead. Consequently, so am I.

"Toby!"

"What could you possibly, and I mean _possibly_, want from me right now, Sam?" He pauses partway down a short flight of stairs to allow a blonde woman carrying a crate of files to pass.

"Well for starters, a quick conversation if it isn't too inconvenient. I've been yelling at you since you came out of CJ's office."

"Office?"

I dodge the woman with the files in an attempt to catch up with Toby, then nearly trip as he stops abruptly in front of the Coke machine. He should really warn people when he's going to stop like that. "Cubicle. Filing cabinet area. Whatever. I wanted to talk to you about the thing this morning."

"The thing this morning is over. Well, actually, no, that isn't completely true. In order for something to be over it must first begin. But that's neither here nor there. We move on. Move on." He starts digging through his pocket looking for, I'm assuming, change.

"No, but what I wanted to ask was -"

"Move on, Sam." He produces a dollar bill and attempts to smooth it against the corner of the machine.

"I'm moving on. I am. But since I'd prepared the Governor's remarks for the interview I wondered if -"

"It doesn't sound as if you're moving on." He sighs and runs his hand over his head before unsuccessfully attempting to feed the dollar into the machine. "Channel Seven wants the Governor on at six o'clock tonight. He'll be speaking to a group of local supporters and taking a few questions. If we're lucky, the major news outlets will pick up the story and run it as B roll on their evening editions. I need you writing." All the while the machine makes a discouraging _phweetpherrrrr, phweetpherrrr_ sound as it takes in the dollar, only to spit it out seconds later.

"Right, and that's what I wanted to talk to you about." _Phweetpherrrr_ "You're drinking soda?"

"Move _on_, Sam."

"I was just asking because you didn't seem like the -"

"_Sam_!"

"Right. I have the remarks prepared for this morning, but I wondered how we should adjust them for this evening." Giving up on the dollar bill, he snatches the paper from my hands and stands in the neon light of the vending machines reading. I watch him for a few moments, his mouth barely moving, no sound, eyes darting across the page, until suddenly they raise to meet mine. "You wondered…_how_ we should adjust this?"

That didn't sound good.

"Well, I was really wondering if we needed to adjust it at all. We're still on message for the day, and why mow your grass and cut it too?" I really need to stop saying things like that. Maybe that's why he doesn't like me. Actually, I doubt that.

"Mow your…Never mind. I don't care. I need you writing. Rewriting." He's trying one more time for the soda.

"So it needs to change?"

"Yes it needs to change!" _Phweetpherrrr_ "Dammit!" He tosses the dollar to the floor and turns his wrath on me. "It's a larger event now and he's speaking to a completely different crowd with completely different issues at stake. I need you coordinating with CJ and with Josh to make this happen." He hands back my first draft of remarks. "And if I were you, I'd begin by changing 'Good morning, fellow Americans' to 'Good evening.'"

With that, he begins to walk away, but not before I take the plunge and tell him one last thing. "Toby…The thing this morning…It wasn't her fault." He stops mid-step and turns.

"Sam!"

"Toby, I'm just saying. It wasn't her fault. She'll think it was, but we both know that -"

"Show me what you have done in one hour. I'll make notes." He's up the stairs before I can ask him whether 'Good afternoon' might be a better option.

Fantastic.

I swing back through headquarters intent on running through the evening's event with Josh before retreating to the relative calm of my corner. I'm met with a sight that stops me dead in my tracks in astonishment.

Josh Lyman is making coffee. Or at least he's trying to. Coffee doesn't seem to be in production at this point despite Josh frantically tapping the decanter.

Something's going on here.

"Josh?"

"Hey."

"You're making coffee." It was really meant as more of an observation, but apparently Josh took it as a question.

"Yes. Yes. I am. My, uh, assistant asked me to. Actually she ordered me to."

"You have an assistant?" I mean, I have an assistant. Well, technically Toby has an assistant. One he is reluctant to share. Which is just as well, I suppose, since she kind of frightens me.

"Yeah. She's new. She…" He trails off with this funny smile on his face. "She doesn't like to make coffee. For me anyway. Or anybody."

"You have an assistant. And she ordered you…to make coffee?"

"So it would seem." He's tapping the top of the machine now with an increasingly perplexed look on his face. It may move this along a bit faster if I help him out, and after I plug in the machine, we're on our way back to his office.

"Thanks."

"Right. So, about this thing tonight. I'm rewriting remarks and wanted to run it through you and CJ."

"Yeah, that's fine. You know, the thing this morning wasn't her fault."

"I know that." Someone should probably tell Toby, though.

"I just say that because, you know, she's gotta be having a pretty bad day what with the tradeoff of the press event for the boxes in the kitchen."

"Yeah." That's probably an understatement.

"Anyway, it looks like tonight's gonna get some national coverage. Donna can get you an event schedule later today."

"Donna?"

"Yeah." He grins. "My assistant."

I need to work. "Okay. I'm writing for a while. But, the kitchen thing, though. It was the right thing to do, right? I mean, it was bad timing, but…" .

"Yeah. Yeah, it was. The right thing."

"SAM!" Toby is on the prowl once again. Time to make myself scare. I edge past Margaret, who is in a harried conversation with the blonde woman from the stairs.

I don't catch much as I tiptoe past their conversation, just something about overflow and campaign badges. Josh bellows for Donna, and the blonde turns to answer.

So that would be Josh's assistant. Interesting.

"SAM!"

"I'm writing, Toby."

At least I will be if I can find some decent coffee.


	4. Leo

Title: Peripheral Vision

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: And so it was that Donna joined the campaign, but what _else_ happened that day? Told through the voices of those on the outside of the main event.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! This should explain the kitchen thing…

POV: Leo

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"-and I wanted to sit down with you for a few minutes before we meet with Ed and Larry about the agenda for the week's review meeting." I try not to wince in anticipation. The Governor has already made it abundantly clear he isn't fond of any meeting, and I'm not looking forward to the reaction of this statement. Unfortunately, it's pretty much as I'd expected.

"You want me to…Just so I'm clear on this, Leo. You and I are having a meeting…to prepare for a meeting…about yet _another _meeting?" I nod and begin to speak, but before I can, he cuts me off. "Leo! What the hell kind of arrangement is this? If this is how we spend our time during the…" Aaaaaand we're off.

I've known Jed Bartlet for a good number of years, and in that time I've learned a few things, one such thing being that it's not a good idea to interrupt the Governor when he's in such a mood. Of course, he's been in exactly this type of mood for the last month, so the windows of opportunity for speech are dwindling and we have a potentially major event tonight.

"Governor?"

" - meeting after meeting where _nothing_ even _remotely_ vital to the -" Usually he'd be waving his arms around by now.

"Governor?"

" - and all they keep telling me is to have _patience_ because some damn numbers I don't even understand tell them that -" Well, we do have finger pointing and screaming.

"Governor?"

" - an economist for God's sake! If I can't decipher them I don't know how we expect average Joe American to know why I'm at the -" _There_ goes the arm waving.

"Governor?"

" - instead of the VFW hall or meeting with mothers on welfare!" And _now_ he's kicked over my trash can.

As the crumpled papers and fast food wrappers flutter to the floor, I decide it may be better to ride out this storm in silence. Unfortunately, Toby appears just then, hovering in the doorway behind the Governor. I try to catch his eye and clue him in to the fact that this may not be the best time to bring up this morning's gaffe, but Jed takes my aversion of eyes as an invitation to turn on yet another victim.

"And here we have another one," he cries, waving in the general direction of Toby. "Am I late for another meeting?"

Caught off guard, Toby manages to mumble, "No, Governor," and clear his throat. "I was just looking for Leo. Mrs. Landingham wasn't at her desk, and I - "

"Whatever. There were three people in the room, so I just assumed." Jed snatches his coat off a folding chair and whips it over his head. "I'm meeting Abby for lunch. Back in an hour." And with that, the candidate slams the door to the Nashua office in search of his wife and hopefully a stiff drink. A young blonde woman carrying a crate of files narrowly avoids being run over as he marches into the street.

"Did I come at a bad time?" That would be a stupid question, but I'm not sure Toby's ever even seen the Governor at what could be called a good time.

"Look at the trash on my floor and you tell me." Is Josh talking to that blonde?

Silence.

Oh, God, he is. Great. Nothing I can do about that now. "What is it, Toby?"

"About the problem this morning…"

"Yeah, we need to try not to do that again." I can't seem to find the revised schedule for this afternoon. Wasn't it under the brown clipboard? "Margaret!" Maybe she took it. "Anyway it looks as though there might be a silver lining. We'll get more exposure this evening and -"

"Yes, Leo?" Margaret appears in the doorway, holding a brown cardboard box full of…campaign badges? Wonderful. So help me God, if she starts talking to me about pointpeople and overflow…

"Margaret, I need the revised schedule for this afternoon."

"Looks to me like you need a new trash can, Leo."

"The schedule, Margaret." Honestly, the things she finds to focus on…

"It's taped on your computer screen."

"No it's not! I would have noticed it if it was on my -" Oh. So it is. "Well why the hell did you put it there?"

"So you wouldn't lose it, Leo."

"You didn't think I might want to, I don't know, use my computer?"

"No." She shifts the box and innocently shakes her head.

Sadly, she's right. I'm not even sure the thing is plugged in. "All right, then. Go…do a job…and stop talking about overflow! You're scaring the volunteers."

With one last look at the crumpled papers strewn about my office, she leaves us in relative peace.

Thank God she's efficient, 'cause she's driving me crazy.

Meanwhile, Toby has been pacing around my cubicle. No easy feat, since he has maybe a five foot by five foot area to work with. I right the trash can Jed kicked over and try to refocus. "I'm sorry. What was it you wanted?" Why is the can crooked?

"The problem this morning?"

Jed dented my trash can. _Dented_ it.

"Right. And I don't think it necessarily was one." Let's see, we need to be on site tonight at 5:15, so we need to get the Governor moving by 5:00...

"You don't think it was a problem?"

…4:30 to be on the safe side…"No, like I said, it's a larger event now. Course we're under some pressure as far as time goes, but…" Was I supposed to call Jenny this morning?

"So, what you're telling me is that if we keep screwing up, it'll be good for the campaign? That's fantastic, truly fantastic!" My head whips up as the trash can crashes against my desk (again), this time courtesy of one Toby Ziegler.

Time to put the schedule away. I take a good look and notice for the first time that Toby looks as tired and old as I feel. I can only imagine what a cranky Toby must be like for Sam to work with. And CJ.

I'm not sure I want to, but someone needs to intervene here before he starts kicking people as well as wastebaskets. "The thing this morning. It wasn't CJ's fault."

He spins in mid-pace. "I know it wasn't her fault! Everybody in the building knows it wasn't her fault!"

"Good, cause, you know it was the Governor who made the decision to stay with the guy. If you're going to need to blame someone, you should -"

"It's nobody's fault, Leo! We shouldn't _need _to blame anyone! He missed the press event because he was sitting in a guy's kitchen. The man lost his job and as a consequence of that he is losing his home." He stops pacing and sits suddenly on a scarred leather couch, running his hand over his head before he speaks. "He missed a _staged_ press event today because he was helping a _real _man pack his entire life into boxes. He missed a press event because he called eight different people trying to find the guy a job."

I can only nod. "Yes, he did."

"He missed the press event today because he's the perfect man for the job." He pauses before continuing, and when he does he's startlingly quiet. "He's going to lose the election, Leo. And it's because he's the perfect man for the job." I wish I could disagree.

"It frustrates him, Toby. He sees the need, he sees the possibilities, and he thinks we're restraining him."

"I think if he'd look around, he'd realize nobody was restraining him."

"I know that. But he isn't used to campaigns. He likes to roll up his sleeves and make a difference."

"By spending an entire morning in one man's kitchen? One man - in a country of millions just like him?"

"He hasn't seen the big picture, Toby. That this -" I motion around me "-is a means to an end. When he gets back, we start again."

"And then what?"

"I don't know. But we begin with tonight."

"You gotta sit down with him, Leo. He needs to know that the campaign comes first. If we don't get the chance to govern, there are gonna be a lot more kitchens just like that one for him to sit in."

"I know that."

"Okay." He looks around and stands. "Sam's rewriting right now. I'm looking at his draft in a few minutes."

"Good, keep me posted."

"Anyway…Leo…I know it wasn't her fault."

"Does _she_ know that?"

Toby sighs and heads out, bellowing for Sam. I pick up the wastebasket only to realize it's now worthy of being placed in a trash can itself.

Fantastic.

"_Margaret!"_

"Yes, Leo."

"I need a new trash can."


	5. Abby

Title: Peripheral Vision

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: And so it was that Donna joined the campaign, but what _else_ happened that day? Told from the points of view of those on the outside of the main event.

POV: Abby

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I can tell from the way he walks into the diner that it's not been a good morning. He's late, which isn't unusual, and I've already ordered, which is probably for the best. We've been eating at this diner for the last two weeks. It's usually the only relatively uninterrupted half hour we have together. Uninterrupted, only if you don't figure in the security which seems to have intensified overnight.

"Well, I was wondering if you were ever going to join me." I motion toward my new security shadow. "I was about to ask Robert over there if he'd like to join me for lunch since my husband obviously wasn't interested."

"Abby-"

"No, I'm sure it would have been all right with him. He looks like he could use a good meal."

Jed removes his jacket and joins me at the table. "I was at the-"

"You know, Jed, in some circles I'm know as quite the conversationalist. Perhaps someone else would appreciate my wit. What do you think Robert?"

"Abby, I somehow don't think it falls within security's job description to eat lunch with the candidate's wife." He's futzing with the menu, not looking me in the eye.

"Why not? What's one little lunch? I used to make cookies for the gardener at the mansion. Oatmeal cookies. Sugar free. Did you know Melvin was a diabetic?" Jed and I are due for a conversation, one I'm in no hurry to start.

"Do we need to order?"

"I already did. Oh, damn, I should've ordered for Robert, too."

"Abby-"

"Do you think he'd prefer the apple pie or the lemon meringue?"

"Am I, at any point, going to be allowed to join in this conversation, or is this a one woman show?

"Well that depends. Is my husband joining me for lunch, or is candidate Bartlet?"

"Abby-"

"You missed the press event this morning." I'm finished beating around the bush. Time to get to the point, take a sip of tea, and wait. I've lit the fuse, the explosion won't be long off.

"Press event! All I missed was three guys in a booth asking me canned questions about a theoretical tax plan that not one of them would understand anyway even with a Cliff Notes version on the desk before them. Anyway there's some other damn thing tonight where I'll be standing there like a monkey in a-" Jed's rant is interrupted by the arrival of our food. After refilling the water, the server heads back to the safety of the kitchen and a temporarily distracted Jed inspects his plate.

"There's no mayonnaise on this."

I'd anticipated that reaction. Looking over at black and white photos on the wall, I tell him as casually as possible that, "there's mustard."

"But there's no mayonnaise. They forgot the mayonnaise." He's waving around, trying to signal someone from the kitchen. For as long as we've been married, he really doesn't seem to know me that well.

"Jed, they didn't forget the mayonnaise, I ordered it without."

"You ordered it without? What good is a sandwich without mayonnaise?" He's still poking under the bread. "And what is this spiky green stuff? Are you _trying_ to kill me?"

"No, I'm _trying _to keep you alive. You don't need the mayonnaise, and the green stuff is healthy."

"But what _is_-"

"What do you care? It's green, it's healthy, now eat it and shut up." He grumbles a bit more, but takes a bite and chews thoughtfully. "Well?"

"It needs mayonnaise."

We eat in silence for several minutes as my husband's blood pressure lowers. It isn't long before he's ready to talk.

"Abby, I sat in a man's kitchen this morning. He's spent the last 10 years of his life trying to keep up with the economy. He pulled his children out of a private school so he could keep a roof over their heads. He worked not one, not two, but three jobs at one time to afford orthodontist bills and music lessons. He finally got one good paying job only to lose it six months later when he got laid off. Now, he selling his house and wondering where he'll find money to buy food for the next month. I sat in his kitchen this morning." He takes a bite and swallows. "_That's_ where I was."

"Instead of the press event?"

"Yes." He nods emphatically. "Instead of the press event. Now _you_ tell _me_ which was more important. I called Byron Jennings and found the man a possible position with his company. _You_ tell _me_ where I should have been."

I know it frustrates him. Jed has never been one to sit back and wait patiently for change. He likes to roll up his sleeves. He feeds on contact with other people. Of course he found the man a job. I'd expect no less. Unfortunately, that same altruistic sense is beginning to be his biggest detriment in the campaign.

"Well, Jed, we can just fold up the campaign office today." He looks up from his coleslaw, fork in mid-air.

"What?"

"I mean it. Send everyone home. Or better yet, send everyone out on buses to cross the nation so you can _sit_ in _kitchens_!" He lays the fork on the table and stares. "Jed _what_ are you thinking?"

"Excuse me?" He blinks.

I've kept my mouth shut for long enough.

"You told me months ago that you would speak while people were listening and then go home. That was fine, but you picked up nineteen percent in that poll and _that's _the story of the morning. People are listening now, Jed, and instead of speaking you blow off a press event to _sit _in a _kitchen_?"

"I made a difference today, Abby. I was in his-"

"Of course you did. I know that. You know that. But America doesn't know that! This is bigger than Nashua, New Hampshire, Jed. You win this election and you change this country! It's bigger than one man in one kitchen! Let me sit in the kitchens. You go win an election."

He crumbles his napkin on his empty plate and slides it to the side of the table. His eyes are focused on his hands, and for a minute I think I may have gone too far. Then he starts to nod - very slowly, almost imperceptibly. Eyes still on his hands, I can barely hear him when he asks, "You think I can do that?"

"Win?"

He nods.

"You bet your ass." It's the first time in a long time that his blue eyes are clear and he has a smile on his face. "Now, tell me about this event tonight…"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

We walk together back to headquarters, my arm slipped through his, almost relaxed, almost like before this whirlwind began. My car is waiting for me, waiting to take me to sit in yet another kitchen in place of my husband. I kiss Jed good-bye and wipe the smudge of lipstick off his cheek before handing him the piece of pie I've carried from the restaurant.

"Give this to Toby, and apologize to him and to Leo for being a jackass."

"The pie isn't for me? I thought you were making up for the mayonnaise thing." He looks so disappointed, but I can't resist teasing him just a little.

"Oh, I've got something much better for you, but it'll wait 'til later. This _is _a public street." With a grin, I turn to my car. "Don't forget to give Toby the pie."

"Which one is Toby?" Honestly, will the man never learn these names?

"The one who likes pie." One last wave, and I'm in the car.

Bartlet for America. And I'm right behind him.


	6. Governor Bartlet

Title: Peripheral Vision

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: And so it was that Donna joined the campaign, but what _else_ happened that day? Told from the points of view of those on the outside of the main event.

POV: Governor Bartlet

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"The one who likes pie."

Well, that's certainly helpful. For reasons I can't explain, my wife seems to delight in making the simplest requests as difficult as possible. All I need to do now is invite these people to a lunch buffet and observe their dessert choices. Then I'll have a fighting chance of identifying the one named Toby.

Remarkably, no one seems to notice my reentry into campaign headquarters. Taking one last look out the window, I watch Abby's black sedan pull away as she begins her afternoon schedule. I'd trade it for mine in a heartbeat.

It's after one o'clock and the pace here is really picking up. Of course, that's mostly my fault for dodging the thing this morning and creating a surprise evening event, but everyone here seems awfully busy. Busy doing what, I don't know. A tall redhead brushes past me with a big cardboard box and an even taller brunette is waving a cell phone in the air, trying to get reception and yelling about podium height. Height, indeed.

"Leo, is it me or is this office filled with an inordinate number of tall women?"

"I'm sorry Governor, but I've got to…" Appearing from my right, he brushes by me, pointing toward a clump of volunteers in the corner now surrounding the redhead with the box. I wave him on, sensing I've been abandoned in the midst of my own campaign. I'm sure I should be somewhere, but _where_ exactly seems to be the question.

All right, then. I'm still holding pie from Abby and hunting for a Toby. That plan would work if I could remember which one he was. The young one with the frizzy hair or the younger one that's always falling down…or is it the _other_ young one with the…

I'm not getting anywhere with this. "Excuse me?" May as well take my chances and ask for some assistance. I manage to flag down a young woman with straight blonde hair. She's wearing a Bartlet for America badge, so chances are she knows this Toby. I hope. "Could I bother you for a moment?"

At the sound of my voice, the young lady stops collecting file folders and looks around with a nervous smile. "Ahh…me?" It would seem as though I've startled her, although I haven't the faintest idea why.

"Yes. Could you tell me which one of these…" I fumble for the right word "…people is Toby Lyman?"

"Toby Lyman?" From the expression on her face I'm guessing now that she doesn't know either.

I nod.

"Do you maybe mean _Josh_ Lyman…sir?"

"No…I mean Toby." At least, I think I do. "I think. Could you tell me…is there a Josh Lyman here?"

The young woman nods.

"And…which one is he?"

"He's well…he's my boss. I mean, I'm his assistant so I suppose that would be the correct term, but…I'm sorry, sir, it's my first day here and I'm feeling a little…what was it you wanted?"

In addition to startling her, I seem to have confused her. It's probably best to start over. "See, I have this pie, and it's from my wife to be given to someone named Toby, only I can't remember which one he is."

"Oh." She nods in understanding. "You probably need Toby Ziegler then? Sir?"

"Yes, indeed! That would be the one!" At least, I hope so. Again. "Could I trouble you to deliver this to him for me, Ms…what was your name?" I won't remember it, but I may as well ask.

"Moss. Donnatella Moss." She smiles and extends her hand. "Donna, actually."

"Donna, I'm Jed Bartlet. It's your first day here?" She nods. "Then welcome to New Hampshire."

As we shake hands, she smiles and I remember brushing by her on my way out to lunch. Actually, it was more like marching and shoving by her on my way out to lunch. That could explain the initial reaction. "Thank you, sir."

"Well, we're happy to have you. And you don't need to call me 'sir.'" I pass her the pie just as the young one with the frizzy hair jogs up to us, shouting all the way.

"Donna!" He sidesteps the woman with the cell phone and comes to a sudden stop before he runs full speed into a filing cabinet. "Donna! I need your help with the computer. It's doing that thing again where it beeps and the screen goes black and then it…Sorry, Governor, I didn't mean to interrupt…"

"That's all right…" I struggle for his name and come up empty. Luckily Donna, retreating toward the back cubicles, comes to the rescue. Standing behind the young man, she points and mouths the word 'Josh.'

"That's all right, _Josh_. Donna and I were finished." She winks at me and turns away. I notice Josh watching as she goes. Sliding my hands in my pockets, I inform him that, "I didn't think we could afford to pay any more support staff."

Tearing his eyes away from her departing figure, he turns back to me. "We can't, really. But she's…special. I'll put her on my payroll until the campaign takes off."

I've seen this look in the eyes of other young men. Rocking back on my heels, I have to ask, "You will, will you?" If I'm going to be stuck with these people for God knows how long, I'm at least going to have a little fun. "She going to South Carolina?"

"Yeah," he pauses. "I think she could be valuable."

"And it's only her first day?" He's turned back to watch her across the lobby where she's presenting a slice of cinnamon apple pie to a man I hope is Toby Ziegler. She motions toward us, and the balding man nods slowly, accepts the pie, and walks away. I clear my throat. "Son?"

"What?" His head whips around and he's instantly focused on other things. "Yeah, look, we've got to get the schedule set for tonight. Leo thinks we should have you at the site by 5:15, but CJ wants us there earlier to check out the podium."

"Is there something wrong with the podium?"

"No. Well, maybe. Apparently there was some sort of a problem with camera angles and podium height at the rally last week. The Times got a picture of you with just your forehead and hair peeking out from over the top of the thing." He starts to smile, making a little gesture to his own head. "Ran a headline with it calling you the 'Little Candidate who Could.'"

He begins to chuckle until noticing the general lack of enthusiasm from my direction. Sobering quickly, he hastens to add, "Which of course is completely inappropriate and we want to avoid that in the future…" Head tilted, I clear my throat. He looks suddenly nervous. "…Sir."

Damn right with the 'sir.'

"And will I be seeing remarks before this rally or am I making things up as I go? I'm not saying that would be such a bad thing and it certainly wouldn't be the first time, but I like to be prepared." I sneak a glance at Leo, who seems to be having a very animated conversation with the redhead.

"You'll see a draft sometime this afternoon, but my guess is that Sam will be polishing right up to the minute."

"Which one is he?"

"Sam?" I nod. "The one who spilled his coffee on your brown suit jacket. Actually, the blue one, too, but….Yeah. That's Sam."

"Very well then." Leo seems to be wrapping up his corner conference and is now heading in my direction carrying something quite large and oddly shiny. I would imagine I'm about to be pulled into a meeting, so I nod once more to Josh and head to Leo's office. Leo follows me in and places what appears to be a large metal trash can in the doorway as I remove my jacket. You know, that can looks awfully familiar…

"Did you have a nice lunch, Governor?" He rearranges the lid.

"It would seem as though my wife has restricted me from any food containing properties relating to taste. She now orders food for me which is barren of all condiments containing either calories or flavor. Pretty soon she'll be cutting my meat." I notice Leo trying to conceal a small grin as I toss my coat onto a chair and eye the garbage can I'm fairly sure I just saw filled with lawn clippings on the corner of Spruce and Seventh.

I give up. "Are you going to explain that thing, or is that what's passing for office furniture these day?"

"Well, Jed, since you decided to kickbox with my old can, Margaret had to find me a new one."

"That was the best she could do? You could fit an entire tree into that thing!"

"It's Margaret. I don't ask too many questions."

"Whatever." We take our seats on the couch. "Ahh, Leo. I've been a real jackass."

"Abby tell you that?"

"She didn't have to, but yes." He smiles. "I'm sorry for that."

"We've got a long road ahead of us, old friend."

Don't I know it. We sit in silence for a few moments before I continue. "Say, Leo, who was that young woman I met just now? Donna something?"

"The one working with Josh?"

"If Josh is the one with a lack of sensitivity regarding my height."

"Sounds like Josh."

"Anyway, who was the girl?"

"I don't really know. We haven't been introduced." Leo removes a schedule from his computer screen. "Now, we need to talk about how to handle the small business question."

If I can get forcibly dragged from meeting to meeting, I can at least have a few moments of enjoyment. "I only ask because she seemed very impressive."

Leo removes a highlighter from his desk and begins writing.

"From what I hear, others would concur with that opinion."

Leo grunts and keeps scribbling.

"Josh, in particular, seemed to think she was _very_ impressive."

That did the trick. I watch in amusement as Leo's eyes leave the schedule and lock with mine. "He did." Somehow that didn't sound like a question. Just the reaction I'd hoped for.

"Valuable, too. I believe that was the word he used."

"Really."

I nod and watch Leo's face turn a pale shade of yellow. "I actually thought they made a rather good looking young couple."

"Jed-"

"Could even be called 'cute' I suppose, were I the type of man to use the word 'cute' in my-"

"You enjoy doing this to me, don't you?"

"Yup." I feel better than I have all day.

"I'm trying to get you elected President, and this…_this_ is how you repay me?"

"Seemed a fair trade to me, Leo. Now, what was it you wanted to say about small business?"


	7. Margaret 2

Title: Peripheral Vision

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: And so it was that Donna joined the campaign, but what _else_ happened that day? Told through the voices of those on the outside of the main event.

POV: Margaret

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I had a feeling he may be unhappy about this. "You asked for a trashcan, Leo. I don't see what the problem is."

"I asked for a wastebasket for my office. I did not ask you to troll up and down the streets of Nashua looking for unattended lawn and garden items!"

First of all, I did not _troll_ up and down the streets. I took a very well-timed walk down two blocks and over one more until I found Leo a trash can. A trash can, I might add, that was not properly located on the homeowner's private property, but was, instead, off the curb and sitting in the street.

"I've explained this before, Leo. It was a traffic hazard. I'm serving the public."

"By stealing trash cans? Honestly, Margaret! This is not what we need right now! I can just see it. National Enquirer stories about the campaign office that pilfered from private citizens. Only it won't be a trash can in the story. It'll be a wheelbarrow or a garden hose. Maybe a lawnmower!" He makes very little sense when he's angry.

"A lawnmower, Leo? What would-"

"Margaret!" Perhaps he could reduce his stress threshold through yoga.

"If it's that much of a disruption, I'll take it back. And I was just wondering what specifically we would be doing with a lawnmower."

"Will you-" He takes a deep breath. "You can't take it back. Someone might see you taking it back. Just give it-" he snatches at the can "-here and I'll put it in my office."

"Leo, if we needed a lawnmower for the-"

"Margaret!" Another deep breath. I really think he might enjoy yoga. "What we need is for you to pack for South Carolina and attend to the schedule for tonight. Thank you very much for your assistance in the trash can matter. Go back to work." With that, attempts to lift the can, only to drop it on his foot. "Margaret!"

"Yes, Leo?"

"There's…are there…there are _branches_ in the can!" Before I can formulate a response, he cuts me off. "Never mind. It's fine. Go to work." And with that, he lugs the garbage can across the lobby and follows the Governor into his office.

All in all, I'm not feeling that appreciated today. There's a gym across the street from where I obtained the trash can. Perhaps I could run over and get some brochures on their classes for Leo. He could decide on a school of yoga and then-

"Excuse me, Margaret?" I look up from my badges to see Josh's new assistant. Still wearing a badge. A badge I didn't give her.

"Yes." This is exactly how the overflow occurs.

She smiles. "Josh said you could tell me what to pack for South Carolina and what needs to stay in the office here. I think I've got most of it squared away, but there are a few things I don't know about."

"Let's take a look." I abandon my own sorting in favor of a new project. After all, if it wasn't for Donna, I'd still be pacifying Josh as well as finding waste receptacles for Leo. We wind our way through the chaos that is the lobby and back into the relative calm of the offices.

"Josh was helping me, but he got called into a meeting with someone named Mandy and he's been grouchy ever since. Is that normal for him? The grouchiness?" With Mandy? That's an understatement.

"Usually when a member of the senior staff takes a meeting with Ms. Hampton, the assistants and volunteers try to avoid them for the remainder of the day."

"Right." She flashes a quick smile and resumes the packing process.

I, meanwhile, am amazed. Josh Lyman's office has never looked this good. Donna has removed clothes from the floor and the mountain of loose papers from his desk. She's even managed to…

No.

She didn't.

"Donna?" I have to ask. Just to be sure. "Is that a salad on his desk?"

"Hmm?" She glances over her shoulder while balancing on a folding chair. As she grabs a box of files from the top shelving, I inspect the green mass. It does appear to be a salad…with no dressing. "Yeah. He told me to order him a lunch so I got him that." She's balancing the box over her head, making her way down from the chair. "I don't think he liked it much, though. He only ate maybe half of it before the meeting." _Whomp!_ An overstuffed box lands on the desk. "Why? Should I have gotten him the sandwich instead?"

I am now in awe of this newcomer. I've been trying for the last two months to encourage a healthy diet among campaign pointpeople. Studies show that worker productivity is dramatically increased when diets high in vitamins and organic substances are introduced. Leo and Josh have been particularly difficult subjects. I declared victory over Leo the day I caught him eating an orange, but Josh never budged.

"He ate part of a salad?"

She nods. "Why?"

The day_ I _ordered Josh Lyman a salad, he and Toby hid my research on overflow and my color-coded post-it notes. Toby also insisted on removing the whole grain organic muffins from the coffee nook, but at least that was less disruptive to overall worker productivity. Donna arrives, orders Josh a salad, and he _eats_ it?

"No reason." I make a mental note to document the occurrence, and help her finish taking down the file boxes. It isn't long before the office is packed, tidy, and ready to go.

"Well, it looks like that's about it. Thank you so much for your help. Everyone here is just so nice." Obviously she has yet to meet Toby.

We exchange a smile and I prepare to go back to Leo. As I pass out the door, I remember one more thing. "Donna?"

"Yeah?"

"Be sure you take the trash can."

"The…trash can?" She appears somewhat confused. "To South Carolina?"

"Yes." With a nod and a smile, I leave her to her new boss.


	8. CJ 2

Title: Peripheral Vision

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: And so it was that Donna joined the campaign, but what _else_ happened that day? Told through the voices of those on the outside of the main event.

POV: CJ

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"No, no I did _not_ tell your news director he needed to order a smaller sized podium. I _asked_ him to keep in mind camera angles for press stills and film footage." The intern on the other end of the line repeats his position regarding campaign interference in public events before breaking up in a wave of static. "Hello? Hello? Listen, you little twerp, get your boss on the line or get-" _Beep._ Call ended. Fantastic. In a moment of frustration, I let out a screech of rage and pound my cell against the nearest solid object - in this case, my desk.

"Bad reception?" Toby, munching on something from a Styrofoam plate, rounds the corner into my area just in time to witness the end of my tantrum.

"In a manner of speaking, yes." Where did that piece of plastic on my desk come from? "I've been on and off the phone for the last hour and a half trying to clear up the podium thing. I finally get through to the people I need and my damn phone cuts me off." Is that a crack on my-

"You're using your cell?"

"Yes." Although not anymore. I've now broken my cell phone.

"You didn't try a land line?"

"No, Toby. I thought that in the interest of the campaign I'd amass a cell phone bill of such gargantuan proportions that there is no possible way I will ever pay it off on such a lucrative salary as I am making now. Of course I tried a land line! In fact, I tried it so many times, it seems I've managed to irritate every other person in the press office who wanted to use the aforementioned land line." Maybe I can glue it back together.

He raises his eyebrows, but doesn't speak. The antennae breaks off in my hand.

Maybe not.

"In the interest of harmony I decided to use my cell and give someone else a chance at the office lines." Not to mention the fact that every time I answer a phone today it's some local crazy wanting comments on the Governor's position on bumper stickers or stolen trash cans. We may be more effective at getting our message out to the public if the public would stop trying to get its messages to us. "My phone plan was working, but unfortunately, Channel Seven, through the haze of static, seems to have misinterpreted my concerns."

"Misinterpreted how?"

"Michael Donovan, the site coordinator for this evening, is upset that I have asked him to order a smaller podium for the Governor's speech." I shove my now useless phone into the top drawer of my desk.

"You asked for a smaller podium?"

"No, I _didn't_ ask him for a smaller podium. I _asked_ him to keep in mind camera angles so we could avoid a repeat of the 'Little Candidate Who Could' thing!"

"You know, a smaller podium might not be such a bad thing, as opposed to the midget and dwarf references we got in the Times."

"Yeah, 'cause every time we do a public event, we really want photos a of a miniature podium being wheeled to the stage so our guy can actually be seen. William Wiley walks right up and talks, but Jed Bartlet has to use a highchair? That's the image we want to feed the public?"

"Yeah. No, you're right. Talk to them about camera angles." I'll do that, provided I can find a working phone. Toby continues to poke at the plate in his hand.

"You're eating pie?"

He chews for a moment, then swallows before looking up. "Yes."

"Where did you get pie?" Not only does he beat me to the coffee, but he also gets the pie?

"I don't really know. She just… I don't really know."

"Okay, then." He turns his fork on it's side and breaks the crust into pieces. I give up on the pie and resign myself to an overdue conversation. "Toby? The thing this morning…" He makes a little waving motion, but I need to say this. "I wanted to apologize. I should have made sure he was on schedule." For as much as this has been on my mind, I'm really at a loss for how to continue. "I was thinking…maybe you'd be better off getting someone else in this job."

The pie plate is abandoned on my desk as Toby puts one hand in his pocket and rubs the back of his neck with the other. "You think…huh…you think we'd be better off getting someone else to do your job?"

"I just mean because I've never worked nationwide and I'm not the most qualified person for-"

"_Qualified_? You're worried about being qualified?" He's pacing now. I shouldn't have brought this up. "It isn't…Take a look around! See where the last twenty years of _qualified_ have gotten us! You saw the guy this morning. Twenty years of _qualified_ sure as hell didn't do anything for him." He stops pacing and calms suddenly. "That isn't what we're about. New ideas. A new kind of campaign. A better candidate. That's what'll win it. Not qualified."

"All I mean is that maybe I'm not the best person to do this. My mistake cost us this morning-" He tries to interrupt, but I'm not finished. "-and I don't want any more of them to cost us the election."

"They're not your mistakes." He says it so quietly, I'm not even sure I heard him.

"What?"

"They're not all your mistakes. The thing this morning wasn't. It wasn't your fault." He sighs. "You're doing good work here. We can't afford to lose you."

The lump in my throat prevents me from saying anything for a few moments. Toby, meanwhile, has reclaimed his pie and is pushing the last sliver around his plate. "You really think I can do this?"

"Excuse me, CJ?" Before I get my answer, we're interrupted by Josh's assistant. "I keep getting these calls about a missing trash can? The local newspaper wants to know if we have a comment on someone from the office removing yard clippings from a street."

Yard clipping sfrom a street? As if I don't have enough to deal with. "I've had local crazies with this thing all afternoon. One of them gets an idea and the rest of them pounce like it's Watergate. Tell them to stuff their story into a trash can. I have enough on my hands with the legitimate crazies."

Donna nods and glances at Toby, who is busy brushing crumbs off my desk. With raised eyebrows, he asks, "Trash cans?"

"Last week they claimed we blocked traffic on Main Street for three hours so the Governor could take a bike ride. Just ignore the local press. Lord knows I do." Donna leaves, and Toby begins to head for the door as well.

"She's the one who gave me the pie."

"You never answered my question."

He pauses in the doorway. "Which was what, exactly?"

"Do you think I can do this?"

A pause, then, "Yeah." Without elaborating, he disappears.

Twenty minutes and four phone calls later, I've settled with Michael Donovan on camera angles and confirmed our appearance and our podium satisfaction for tonight. The Governor will be speaking to a crowd of supporters and taking questions. Local news will carry the whole event and if we're lucky, CNN will pick up the speech. Now all I need to do is actually transport the Governor to the site before the cameras start rolling. Grabbing my notes, I read through the latest updates as I head over to Leo's office. Head buried in a binder, I don't see much outside my notes until I'm at his door.

"Leo, I've been looking at scheduling and we need to have the Governor at the site by five and _oh my God_!" I stop myself before taking a header over the giant silver trash can in Leo's doorway. Branches peek out from under the lid and I'm almost positive there's a cricket chirping from somewhere inside.

"What the hell is that?"

"What?" Leo looks up from a pile of briefings.

"That!" I would think it would be obvious. "The giant trash can with the leaves and the sticks and 781 Spruce Street painted on the side! Leo, tell me we did not steal this from 781 Spruce Street!"

"Yeah, I meant to give you a heads up on that…"

I really thought this was just the local crazies being, well, crazy.

It would appear that I was wrong.

We _are_ the local crazies.

Fantastic.


	9. Sam 2

Title: Peripheral Vision

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: And so it was that Donna joined the campaign, but what _else_ happened that day? Told through the voices of those on the outside of the main event.

POV: Sam

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"_Sam!_" Toby's feet appear in my line of vision.

He isn't going to like this.

"Sam!"

Of course, it's not really my fault. It's the computer's fault. Or possibly the printer's. If I just explain to him that it's not my fault then-

"Where the hell are you?"

Yeah, that's probably not going to work.

"I'm here."

"Where?" His feet are alarmingly close to my head.

"Under my desk."

"What the hell are you doing under your desk?"

"I was, I'm…Nothing. I was just- _Ow_!" My head makes contact with the underside of my desk as I attempt to emerge and meet my fate. "I was just checking the wiring."

"Why were you…Whatever. I need the thing for tonight."

"It's coming. It is." I hope. "I just need to adjust the wiring and then I'll finish it."

Crawling out from under my desk, I slowly rise to the level of Toby's increasingly irritated face. "Are you saying, Sam, that you have yet to finish the speech?"

"I'm saying that I have yet to put it to paper. It's in my head and it's somewhere in the computer, it's just not on the paper. Yet."

"So what you're saying is that you have yet to put on paper the speech which is to be presented in less than an hour and a half?"

"Yes, but there's no reason to panic."

"Panic?" It's never a good thing when he looks at me with that expression. "Panic, Sam? Why would I panic?" Now he's laughing. Somehow, though, I don't think that means he's actually amused. "He's getting into the car right now! Why would I panic!"

This is a time for calm and for confidence. Failing those two things, this is a time for complete and utter lies. "And I'm saying there's no reason to. It's just a minor computer glitch. I'm relatively certain there's just something wrong with the wiring. I'll fix it and print the thing out." Maybe if I distract him, he'll leave me alone. "Say, I heard you had pie."

"Sam…"

That didn't work.

"…Can't you just save it to a disk and print it out somewhere else?"

"I could do that." I wish I had done that. I wish I'd done that before unscrewing the back of the thing and pulling out all those wires. "I mean, I could have _done_ that."

"Could have?"

"Well, now there seems to be a problem with the computer itself, not just the printer." In the interest of my health, I don't think he needs to know that this problem could possibly be my fault.

"What kind of a problem, Sam?"

"I can't turn it on."

"Can't turn what on?"

"The computer. I can't turn it on."

"Have you tried?"

"Toby! Of course I tried. See, I can push the button but nothing happens." I demonstrate, but the machine just sits there in silence.

"Is it plugged in?"

"Oh yes, it's plugged in, it's just not working…which is where we have our problem."

"We?"

"Well, me, really. But I'm working on it." I jiggle some loose wires in back of the printer in hopes of a miracle. "I'm almost positive I'll have a solution in a few minutes." Seeing Toby's purple face, I feel the need to amend that statement. "I mean, I will have a solution in a few minutes."

_Beep. _ The wire jiggling seems to have worked. Thank God. Now I can get Toby off my back, print the thing out, and start packing for tomorrow. "Aha! It beeped, it's on and the screen is on and now we are in business. All I need to do is change the part where…" I trail off as Toby and I observe the message on the screen.

_A fatal error has occurred. Please contact your support professional for assistance. _This cheery little note is accompanied by the ever-ominous blue screen of death. This doesn't look good.

Toby's fingers flutter over the top of his head as he reads the screen. "Fatal error, Sam?"

"I'm sure it's not all that bad. If I just re-boot it, maybe it will go away."

"Maybe it will go away," he repeats. "Maybe it…The event tonight hinges on the age-old philosophy of _maybe_ it will _go away_? Why am I not at _all_ confident at this point?"

"Toby, relax. I'll fix it." I hope.

"Yes, yes, you will. The reason that I know this is that if you don't it will be your face, Sam, _your face _and _not_ the computer screen with the fatal error! Do you understand my meaning?"

"Yes, yes, absolutely."

"Good, now get back under the damn desk and call the computer guy to come and fix this. I'm riding with the Governor and Leo to the site. Josh is leaving in half an hour. Ride with him and bring the speech with you."

I nod, hoping Toby will leave me in peace. "I'm sure it's just a loose wire somewhere-"

"Do not talk to me about the wiring! You know what doesn't have wiring? Notepads. Little yellow sheets of paper. No wiring. Just a pen and when that runs out of ink, you know what you do?"

"Get a new pen?"

"Yes. You get a new pen. Now get under that desk and do not - and I mean do NOT - come out until you have the speech."

I nod.

"I mean it. Live under there. Sleep under there, even. But do not let me see you again without the speech in your hand. Understood?" He's headed toward the door. Finally.

I nod, still waiting for him to leave.

"Sam!"

"What?"

"Under the desk!"

"Right." I scramble around my chair and duck for cover beneath the top of my desk. I watch as Toby's feet retreat into the lobby. Taking a deep breath, I look again at the mass of cords on the back of the box. Maybe it's the red wire…

Twenty more minutes of work yields nothing but a mild electrical shock and a few sparks. This isn't going well. This isn't going well at all.

"Sam?" Josh's shoes approach the edge of my desk.

"Yeah." Maybe they're color coded…

"We're heading out in a couple minutes, just thought I'd let you know."

"Okay." When did that extra cord appear?

"Sam…What're you doing under the desk?"

"I'm trying to fix the computer." Josh's knees enter my field of vision, and soon his face appears as well.

"Can't you leave it for later? We gotta go."

"Well, I could leave it for later. The only problem with that plan is that the speech is on the computer."

"The speech for tonight?" He begins to edge under the desk with me. "You don't have a hard copy?" I shake my head. Josh's eyes widen, then crinkle in amazement. "Wow. What are all those wires?"

"The wires are…I don't know. What I do know is that Toby will kill me if I can't get this to work."

"Well, did you try just plugging them all back in?" He reaches around to the back of the machine and starts rearranging blue and red cords while I do my best to help. Or at least to look like I know what I'm doing.

"Josh? Are you under there?" There's a new pair of feet in the room now, and they're wearing high heels. Again, very close to my head. Josh freezes in mid connection and looks to me in a mild panic.

A head with blonde hair attached appears beneath the desk. "What are you two doing to that computer?"

Josh recovers enough for an introduction. "Sam, this is my assistant, Donna. Donna, this is Sam." Handshakes are a little awkward, seeing as I'm beneath a piece of oak, but Donna and I exchange quick smiles before she resumes her inspection of the disaster that used to be my workspace.

"So…Why are you taking apart a computer?"

"Well, we're not, really. It's just that there's a very important speech on the computer…and we're trying to get it out."

"By ripping out all the wires?" She seems unconvinced.

"By putting them back together."

"Well, you should stop. Stop now. Don't you have someone who fixes these things?"

"Tried that. They can come first thing in the morning."

"Great!"

"Not when we need the speech tonight."

"Oh. Well, stop taking it apart. You could make it worse. I'll…do something with it. You two go get dressed. Go on. Go." One look at my coffee stained shirt tells me she's right about one thing. I do need to change. Unfortunately, I think she's wrong in saying the computer could get any worse. We've pretty much hit bottom on that one. Donna shoos us toward the door as we emerge from the desk. Glancing back, I see her peering at the mass of wires with a determined frown.

"Come on." Josh claps a hand on my shoulder and steers me away from my office.

"Can she really fix that?"

"I have no idea but I'm not about to be the one to tell her she can't."

"You're scared of your assistant, too?"

"Little bit."

Fifteen minutes later, there's a speech in my hand. I'm not sure how it happened, but I did see Margaret with a screwdriver and Donna with a roll of tinfoil and who really wants to ask questions about that?

"Let's go." Josh grabs his coat and we file out the door, Donna close behind. It's now 5:38PM. Just enough time to proofread, get to the site, hand off the speech, and not be killed by my boss.

We move quickly down the steps and take a left into the parking lot, me making notes in the margins as I walk. We enter the lot at a near jog and head to the rear. I glance at my watch. 5:40PM. We power walk a little farther, past the row of spots reserved for senior staff and assistants. Then we actually hit the rear of the lot. And we've not yet arrived at a car. Looking up from my notes, I notice for the first time that we may have a problem. Apparently, so does Josh. "Ahhh, Sam? Where's your car?"

"My car? I returned it to the rental place this morning. I thought we were looking for your car." 5:41PM.

"Noooo…my car is back at the hotel. I was following you."

"So we don't have a car." My mouth has gone suddenly dry.

"No."

"We have nineteen minutes and we don't have a car." And my heart is no longer beating a steady rhythm.

"No."

"Well, that's the end of my job."

"Sam-"

"No, actually it's the end of my life." Might as well be accurate.

"I'm sure we can-"

"No, Josh. We have-" I look at my watch "-_eighteen_ minutes now before the Governor gets on that stage. I'm a dead man."

"We can get a cab…" He looks around the street. One old woman on a bicycle pedals leisurely by. "Do they have cabs in New Hampshire?"

"Even if they do, we don't have time to find a-"

"I can drive." I find myself staring at Donna, then at Josh, who is doing pretty much the same thing. "I have my car." Josh and I continue to stare. "I drove it here from Wisconsin. I mean, it's not the most-"

"Let's go." One very fast about-face, and we're on our way to Donna's car.


	10. Leo 2

Title: Peripheral Vision

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: And so it was that Donna joined the campaign, but what _else_ happened that day? Told through the voices of those on the outside of the main event.

POV: Leo

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"-and furthermore, we apologize for any inconvenience the absence of your trash can may have caused. You can be assured that not only does the Bartlet for America campaign take-"

CJ stops writing and looks up. "Don't say "Bartlet for America."

"You want it to say Bartlet for trash cans?"

"We talked about this, Leo. We need to downplay the role of the campaign."

Fine. I can work with that. "Not only do we take full responsibility for the-"

"Don't take responsibility. It makes it look like we did something wrong."

"We stole trash cans. That isn't wrong?" This only earns me a glare.

Thirty minutes until the event, I can't find two key staff members let alone the actual speech, and I'm left dictating apology letters to the Jensens of 781 Spruce Street. I wonder if perhaps this is what Margaret means by overflow.

I start again. "You can be assured that not only do we regret the inconvenience caused to you and your family-"

"Don't bring up the family."

"CJ!"

"I'm just trying to keep us out of trouble here. We bring up family, and suddenly it's an attack on every American citizen."

"CJ, it was a missing trash can! Why are we-"

"Because! This is Nashua, New Hampshire and these people cared enough to call not only the police but also the press to begin with! You really don't think this letter will end up on the front page of the newspaper?"

Disturbingly enough, I'm almost certain she's right. I'm also finished with this conversation. "Fine. Write this: Dear residents of 781 Spruce Street, We're sorry we stole your dead tree branches. We're sorry you missed yard waste pickup day - whatever the hell that is. Ever think about raking leaves more than once a decade? Signed, Leo McGarry."

She looks at me in silence for a moment, eyebrows raised, before slowly responding. "So I take it _I'll_ be writing the letter of apology."

That would be the gist of it. "Ya think? Anyway, he's on the stage in half an hour. We can deal with the other thing tomorrow. Where are we on the speech?"

Toby looks up from the paper on his lap and clears his throat. "It's on the way."

"On the way?"

"Yeah."

"So that wouldn't be the speech for this evening you're scribbling on that notepad."

He glances first at CJ, then at me. "It would be a backup, I suppose."

"A backup?"

"There was a problem with the…wiring. Sam's on his way. He'll have the speech."

"You're sure about that?"

"No."

"Oh, for God's sake, Toby! What the hell are you…Never mind. Somebody get a call in to Sam and Josh and find out where in the Northeast they happen to be. CJ, you got your cell?"

"Ahh, well, no. No, I don't." She eyes Toby and ducks her head.

"Fine. Whatever. Find a payphone. Find a carrier pigeon for all I care! Just get the damn-"

"_Leo!_" And here we have the Governor.

I turn to see Jed charging at me, and from the look on his face, he's not happy. With one final glare for Toby, I turn to Jed.

"Leo! Could someone here please tell me why there is a stepstool behind the podium?"

"There was a height…thing at the event last week."

"We couldn't have arranged for different camera angles? I need a booster seat?"

Good question. Turning to CJ, I find her just as surprised and possibly even more irate than the rest of us. "I did. I did arrange for the cameras to…No. Hold on. No. No. That little twerp didn't…Okay, you know what…I'm going to-"

"You want to maybe start speaking in complete sentences, there, CJ?" Twenty-five minutes until we're on air.

"I'll be right back." Dropping the trash can draft, she darts out of the room yelling for someone named Michael to fire his intern. Meanwhile, I'm left with one irate Governor on my hands.

"We just wanted to avoid the thing that happened with the Times." He continues looking at me, not amused. "You know, where they compared you to the Little Engine that-"

"I know what they compared me to. Something about a dwarf or a midget as well, I believe. What I don't understand is how my using a _stepstool_ is going to _dispel_ that image!"

Once again, he has a point there. "CJ's working on it, sir. In the mean time, I'd like you to relax for a few minutes before going out there, maybe go sit with Abbey for a while." Placing my hand on his shoulder, I attempt to steer him back to the green room.

"And will I be seeing a draft of the speech sometime in the next, I don't know, fifteen minutes? I realize we're keeping the crowd in suspense, but is it wise to do that to the candidate as well?"

"Sam's on his way with the speech and Toby's working on it as well. You'll have it as soon as it's ready." I hope.

"I believe that's what I was told some five hours ago now."

Rounding the corner, we enter the green room where Abbey sits, perched on the edge of an ancient leather couch. Rising to greet us, she starts fussing with Jed's collar. "I see you've found my wayward husband. So good of you to bring him back." Turning to look Jed in the eye, she adds, "Stop moving."

"It's not like I'm a short man by any means." We're back on this again. He stops moving his head, but continues flailing his arms.

"Of course you're not. You're taller than Leo." I try not to be offended by that remark.

"I'm taller than a lot of people." He's moving his head again. "A lot of very successful people. Napoleon, for instance."

"Didn't I tell you to stop moving?"

"And they bring out a stepstool for me to stand on!" Now he's pacing. "I asked Leo how that was supposed to help and I swear he chuckled at me! Chuckled!"

"Yes, yes. That's all very important. Now, if you and your massive height don't stop moving, I'm going to strangle you with this tie."

Look's like Jed is handled for the moment. Now if I just knew where Josh and Sam were, I'd be in business. "Abbey." She smiles. "We've got a little time before he goes on camera. If you could just, maybe-"

"Keep him calm?"

"Something like that." With a nod, I attempt an exit as Jed rails against the use of a stepstool and his wife straightens his tie.

Leaving the Governor with Abbey in the waiting room, I sense rather than see sudden commotion at the far end of the hall. The next thing I notice is Sam running past, full speed ahead and carrying several sheets of paper. Behind him trails Josh, carrying a backpack and limping on his left. Bringing up the rear, but rapidly closing in, is the blonde I'm assuming is Josh's new assistant. Despite the heels she's in, she passes Josh and heads straight for Sam, waving around still more paper.

I take it the speech has arrived.

"Sam!" At the sound of her voice, he turns, still in a dead sprint, and narrowly avoids crashing into a cart of coffee and bagels. He does not, however, avoid crashing into Toby, who suddenly appears from around a corner. Somehow the two of them manage to stay on their feet and the blonde skids to a stop, holding out the papers to Sam. "Here. You might want pages three and four."

"Right." With a glare from Toby, he and Sam disappear to (hopefully) hand off the speech to Jed. Josh, meanwhile, limps up to me.

"What the hell happened to you?" Happy as I am to see him, this really was not the time for him to go AWOL.

"Well, Leo, see, Sam had a problem with his computer and we had to fix the thing before…" He trails off as the blonde woman strides up to us, a very pointed look on her face. "_Donna_ had to fix it before we could leave the office. Then there was a problem with a car and we had…" She glares at him some more. "Donna was able to help us out by lending us her…Driving us to the site."

"Why are you limping?"

"I, uh, tripped. Getting out of the car."

"Getting out of the car when, Joshua?" The blonde speaks.

"I was anxious to get into the site! So was Sam and you didn't laugh at him!"

"He didn't try to jump out of the car while I was still driving! I told you not to try to get the-"

A somewhat red-faced Josh cuts her off. "Leo, have you met my assistant?"

"We haven't been introduced. I'm Leo McGarry."

"Donna Moss. Nice to meet you, sir."

"Call me Leo." Glancing at my watch, I continue. "I need to check in with the Governor. Excuse me, will you?" As I head after Sam and Toby, I hear Josh and Donna bickering in the background.

"Come on, let's find some ice."

"I don't need ice." He's whining.

"You're limping. You need ice." And she's not taking it.

"I wouldn't be limping if you didn't drive like a-"

"You wouldn't be limping if you didn't try to jump out of moving cars. Be quiet and let's go." I think I like her.

Less than ten minutes until one of the most important events of the campaign, and I've got a candidate who needs a high chair, an assistant who steals trash cans, a press secretary who can't speak in complete sentences, and Josh jumping out of moving vehicles. It's a wonder we've gotten this far.

And yet, you gotta wonder…

Maybe _those_ are just the people and just the reasons we have.

"Leo? We're starting." CJ and I walk slowly to the edge of the stage as Jed prepares to speak. The crowd is a sea of red, white, and blue. The shouts are deafening, the momentum sweeping through the building. The cameras are on and lights are blazing. Stepstools are (thankfully) nowhere in sight. Dozens of "Bartlet for America" signs pepper the crowd and a hush falls as he begins to speak.

"_My fellow Americans…"_

Bartlet for America. It's more than one man. It's all of us.

And we can do this.


	11. On the Periphery

Title: Peripheral Vision

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Summary: And so it was that Donna joined the campaign, but what _else_ happened that day? Told through the voices of those on the outside of the main event.

Final Chapter: On the Periphery

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"_My fellow Americans…"_

The rally is an exhibit of American patriotism at its best. Those observing it would see an energetic, enthusiastic, intelligent candidate ready to lead. They would see red, white, and blue, hear the shouts and chants of supporters.

"_Today, I met a man. I sat in his kitchen and I heard his story…"_

But if one were to look away for a moment, they might find the edges of the stage. The sidelines here are filled with players, not in the forefront, but in the background…on the periphery.

"_A man forgotten by America as it is, but not by America as it should be…"_

To the side of the stage is a tall brunette holding a stepstool. She clutches the arm of a shorter balding man holding a clipboard. They exchange a glance, a silent nod, and an almost imperceptible smile of pride and commitment.

"_Let us not forget not only the past, but also the unseen present…"_

The balding man turns to a younger man with dark hair and hands him a yellow notepad and a pen. He begins to lecture the young man, gesturing to the legal pad, then swatting at wires from a nearby speaker. The younger man seems amused, then starts nodding in earnest as the older man begins to point frantically at him with the pen.

"_To turn away from the familiar, to observe what is so often unnoticed…"_

In the shadow of the lights, a tall redhead is trying in vain to hand a shorter, older man a selection of what appear to be fitness pamphlets. He throws his hands in the air in frustration and stalks over to a trash can. Tossing in the pamphlets, he walks away. One need not look hard to see the grin he fails to suppress. The redhead looks slyly around, then stealthily removes the trash can from its current location and carries it away.

"_In a nation of many, we shall not forget the few. In a time of struggle, we shall not forget the promise. In a world of singular focus, we shall not forget the periphery…"_

Near the lower corner of the stage, there's a glimpse of shiny blonde hair. A young woman carrying a clipboard and wearing a "Bartlet for America" button makes her way through the crowd. There's an appearance of pride and an edge of awe in her eyes. Perhaps the most intriguing part of this scene would be the man standing slightly to the side, watching his new assistant with amusement, respect, and a light in his eyes.

"_We shall not forget the promise of a new beginning…"_

All this, and more, if only one would observe the periphery.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N: Thanks for reading! (About time I finished this.) Not quite the ending I'd envisioned, but I guess that happens sometimes and I think I kind of like it after all. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
